I walk into San Quentin and tell the guard that I'm here today for a shooting. I quickly add that it's a video for a project we’re working on in the media lab for a demo that profiles an incarcerated man, Tam Ynugen.
Tam has been in prison since he was 20 for attempted murder. He is 42, but he looks much younger. He asks me if I’d like to hear his music and I follow him into the room where they record the popular podcast “Ear Hustle” and he starts playing his guitar and channeling John Legend. The guy is good. Not just his guitar playing and his voice, but his lyrics. He’s not the only person who has changed his tune since he was incarcerated; he is one of many who go through rehabilitation and has not only gained insight into his crime and himself but also learned a new skill.
It's a sunny, clear blue sky sixty-something degree day. The mainline which is usually full of men playing basketball, exercising, running, etc., is practically empty. I ask a passerby where everyone is.
“They can’t come out on the yard because they’re searching death row.”
“Shit,” I reply. “I hope they don’t find it.”
He gives me a big rather toothless smile and I proceed to the media center and take off my coat as it’s getting warmer.
I meet with the crew, and we head out to the North Block. There are three men shooting and Brian and Sadiq are directing. We climb 32 steps and a guard lets us in and we march up four flights of stacked cages and a guard opens Tam’s cage. It’s hot up here, really hot. I can’t imagine when it’s over 70 degrees let alone 100 as I can hardly breathe. There are bird droppings, and the cages have bars every 2” covered in a black grate so I can’t see inside and they can’t really see out.
I go over to Skylar, who is on the staff, and he can tell by the look on my face how sickened I am. This is inhumane. My closet is bigger than the cells that house two men in a 6x10 space. They can’t pass each other without one of them moving on to the double-decker metal thing they call a bed. Their heads are about a foot from the toilet which is right next to the sink.
The men actually call their cages home. One incarcerated man who has been in for 26 years told me he used to hang pictures, drawings – try to make it nice. But they kept moving him around, well, just because they could, so he gave up.
I stand out in the hall and look down to the end on the ground floor then quickly look away as out in the open men are taking showers. Some of the men are now standing outside their cages and glance at me. They could easily grab me and throw me in the cell with them and there’s a no-hostage policy (take no prisoners) so my Mom’s worst fears are actually not that stupid. But I don’t worry at all.
As we take the march back down the stairs to leave the North Block, we pass the barbed-wired outdoor fenced-in area where the men in solitary get a few hours of fresh air. I’m in tears.
I leave San Quentin a few hours later. The guys will download the video and start editing it next week. I take the long walk through a couple of security checkpoints and so many guards and get in my car. I’m hungry but feel bad about having so many choices about where to go to lunch.
I drive home and a mile before my house is the Marin Humane Society where I got a cat and took my dog to obedience class. A couple of acres with a play park, huge cages and volunteers who come play with them and take them outside to their park. The animals inside should only know how good they have it.
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